Black Soulstone
by metallover
Summary: After the defeat of the Prime Evil Diablo, the heroes of Sanctuary's work has only just begun. Follows the Barbarian, Mage and Companions as they explore Sanctuary and tie up loose ends, trying to rebuild the world after the near apocalypse.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**

**Ima start by saying I swear to god that this is the only big long Author's note I'll put in this story. I know people don't read these anyway. It has been a really, really, really long time since I've written any fanfiction. But hey, university can't control my life forever. Well, unless I stop ignoring it. ANYWAY: I began writing this as a short story, but for people's ease of reading, I'm lopping it up into chapters. And posting it here. You know, every time I can get my arse in gear and write anything non-academic. This is just an attempt at a little closure I felt was lacking from Diablo 3 (don't get me wrong, magnificent game, but I get way too emotionally attached to characters for my own good). It's told from the perspective of the Barbarian, Etrik, and follows his journey with the characters from the game I could see sticking together. The others may come in at later points, but I write without planning (it's a gift), so I don't know what'll happen ahead of time. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated (be gentle, I am dericate frowah), and nice things keep me motivated to write. It's emotional bribery, people. So sit back and enjoy the ride. I don't intend for this to get too dark, but you can never tell where these things will go. **

**END AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Ertik watched silently as the pyre burned high into the night sky, the frozen northern wind throwing his white hair and long, braided beard about in its icy clutches. The flames consumed only wood and fuel; it was a symbolic funeral for an innocent who had been twisted by evil; Leah Cain, the poor girl who had lost all and been tricked by her own mother into becoming the vessel for Diablo.

The pyre was for her; it was symbolic, because after Ertik had killed Diablo, the heroes had cast the Prime Evil from heaven, to fall to Sanctuary and rot.

Ertik and his companions stood on the highest tower of Bastion's Keep, surrounding the burning pyre. The thick plate armor Ertik wore had chaffed at him at first; as a 'Barbarian', the other peoples liked to call his people, Ertik preferred to rely on the toughness of his own skin, but he had grown to like the plate that Headrig the Blacksmith had crafted for him. In respect, Ertik had removed the broken crown he had taken to wearing, out of respect for the departed.

Beside him, the Wizard sniffed back tears of grief. The girl, Criid, was but a child; then again, all of the other heroes were compared to Ertik. Her revealing clothes had been shredded or burned in the final conflict, and she wore the Templar Kormak's tabard. It was almost amusing watching a Wizard wear the old sigil of the Zakarum Church. The ancient Enchantress, Eirena stood next to her, holding her shoulders in a show of support but quietly weeping herself, the two having bonded throughout the quest.

Next to her crouched the nameless Witch Doctor, muttering quietly to himself behind a mask made out of some sort of tree bark. As soon as they had returned to Bastion's Keep the man, if such he was, had shed all of the armor and even clothing he'd worn during their travels and now sat in naught but his loincloth, seemingly oblivious to the frigid northern wind.

On the opposite side of him stood the Monk, Lee, leaning on his heavy, ornate staff. Lee, too, had shed the armor he had accumulated, and stood now in his faded yellow robes, stroking his beard, openly weeping.

Opposite them, hiding in the shadows cast by the fire, was the enigmatic Demon Hunter, Nessa. She had kept her armor, too, but had remained aloof, and Ertik did not expect her to stay long. She stared into the flames, dry eyed, but frowning. Etrik supposed that was the best he'd get from the cold woman.

The Templar Kormak stood next to Ertik, leaning on his spear, staring sadly into the flames, the Rogue Lyndon sitting on a box behind them staring at the ground forlornly, while Headrig shook his head in what Ertik could only assume to be grief next to them. Of the Jewlcrafter Shen there was no sign, but Ertik assumed that the man-god had had better things to do than mourn the loss of a single mortal.

As the pyre burned, none of the assembled spoke. As the timbers collapsed and burnt to embers, the others slowly began to leave. Nessa was first, nodding across the fire at Ertik, off to hunt the remaining demons wherever they may have escaped to. A few minutes later, the Witch Doctor stood, spread his arms wide, and rasped a strange prayer, before slinking off. Ertik doubted they would ever see him again. Lee was next, coming over to Ertik and the others.

"It was an honor, my friends," he said, clasping his hands and bowing.

Ertik nodded, proffering his hand.

Lee looked at it, confused for a moment, before relaxing and grasping Ertik's forearm, as he did likewise.

The two female spellcasters hugged him as they said their farewells, and the others shook his hand as he left.

Ertik stood before the others now, realizing as they all looked to him.

"What now?" Lyndon asked, looking up at the hulking Barbarian.

Ertik shrugged.

"Well we've followed you this far," Headrig grunted. "Shall we scatter now, too, as the others have?"

"That does not sit well with me," Kormak growled. "Not after all we've seen together; not after the oaths we've made, the blood we've shed."

"Besides which," Criid said, her normal haughty attitude replaced by a shaky voice, "I am hardly welcome back among my own people."

"And I have nowhere to go at all," Eirena said in a small voice.

Ertik grunted, before grabbing the two girls in a massive bear-hug. "You are all as dear to me as my own family now. I could not simply see you leave; not without at least fulfilling the promises I have made."

Lyndon laughed, "If you hug me, I'm throwing you off the tower."

The others all laughed, too, and Ertik saw Criid quickly wipe the tears from her eyes as he released the two girls, quickly regaining her usual composure.

They were his family, much the way that the heroes of the last quest had been; it was the way of the Barbarian tribes. You made your family, forged in battle and sweat and blood and honor. He had explained as much to them before the final battle.

Etrik thought back forlornly to another such gathering he had attended in his youth; a paladin, Amazonian, druid, enchantress, assassin and necromancer had all come to him after his people's ancestral homes had been shattered. Blinded by his grief, he turned them away; they, his clan forged in blood and battle against Diablo so long ago.

He couldn't even remember their names.

Etrik was snapped out of his reprieve when he realized the others were all looking at him.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

"Well, like Lyndon said," Criid reminded him, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, sinking to a hip, her old attitude beginning to return. "What now?"

Resisting the urge to smile, Etrik ushered them inside. "Now? Now we eat, and drink, and rest. We can decide our first destination in the morning."

The prospect of hot food and a warm hearth seemed to energize the group, who began heading down the narrow passage in the floor of the tower.

Etrik lingered, still holding the broken crown in his gauntleted hands. With a mighty exhalation, he threw the crown as far as he could to the north.

His people were gone. One day, he would return and unite what remained of them. Bul'Kathos willing there would hopefully be enough left to make one strong clan.

But first he had oaths he had sworn to his friends to complete.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**

**Many thanks to my awesome proof-reader and baby brother C (who just so happens to be full of great ideas I can barely get him to shut up): he gave this chapter the old spit-shine it needed. **

**Chapter 1: Kingsport**

"This is Kingsport?" Criid asked incredulously. "This festering rat-hole of a city is the biggest port on the Southern coast?"

Their group stood on a bluff overlooking the city; indeed, in the light of the early evening the city had an almost decrepit air about it. Even from this distance Ertik could smell the mix of salt and rotting fish and waste that accompanied large settlements. He could see people scurrying about, trying to be home before dark; shift-workers from the docks and taverns mostly, but a number of City Guard were roaming about, and there was even one or two wizards he spotted sauntering about, using their magic to light the lanterns in the streets.

"Yes, but it's _my_ festering rat-hole," Lyndon said with forced pride, before deflating. "Or at least it used to be."

"Aye, 'tis a sorry sight," Headrig agreed.

"Look at it," Eirena said. "They go about as if the world didn't just almost end."

Ertik grunted. "It didn't. Why should they concern themselves with what could have been?"

Etrik's entire motley band had changed into simple travel clothes; their armor and most of their weapons, along with Headrig's mobile smithy were in the cart that Lyndon had procured (after Ertik specifically instructed him to do it legally) which was being pulled by a sturdy draft-horse Headrig had taken a shining to. Criid had looked incredibly uncomfortable in the modest clothes the entire time she had been wearing them; Kormak had noted numerous times that he felt naked without his armor; Lyndon and Eirena didn't seem to notice the difference in attire. Ertik was the only one that had eschewed common dress; he once again wore naught but his boots and war-kilt; a large sword the Criid had described as a 'man-render' strapped to his broad back.

"How come you get to wear your normal clothes while I'm stuck dressed like a peasant?" Criid had asked petulantly as they had set out from Bastion's Keep.

"Could you have found traveler's clothes that would fit me?" he had asked wryly, resisting the urge to smirk at her. Her pout was epic, as Lyndon described it, and lasted the entire day, until the time came to set up camp and she burned Headrig's eyebrows off setting their campfire. 'Accidentally', of course.

The others eventually retreated from the bluff; Eirena, Kormak and Headrig beginning to set up camp while Criid looked on from her perch atop the wagon after Headrig chased her away from the fire pit, leaving Ertik standing with Lyndon overlooking the city in the failing light.

"How do we proceed?" Ertik asked the smaller man at his side, forgetting his nostalgia.

Lyndon looked on Kingsport and shrugged. "I honestly never thought I'd get this far, to tell the truth. I don't have a plan."

"Well, that's a first!" Headrig called from the camp he was setting up with Kormak and Eirena. "You're usually sitting on something. Are ye' tellin' us ye've got nothing?"

Lyndon huffed and shrugged, sauntering over to the fire, some more of his old spark returning.

"Well I wouldn't say I've got 'nothing'," he said in his best grifter voice.

Ertik rolled his eyes. Criid was much more vocal in her doubts.

"Oh, here we go…"

So it was Ertik found himself sneaking through Kingsport after dark; his broad, pale chest coated in the dark earth that was native to the area, a smaller (but still rather large, Criid had noted; her exact words "I guess a regular sword would be little more than a dagger to you, anyway.") sword strapped to his hip, following Lyndon through a warren of slums.

Eirena and Criid had gone off to cause what Lyndon had called a 'loud distraction'; magically igniting one of the city's breweries to cause enough of a ruckus to allow the wanted criminal and the giant of a man to sneak into the city.

Eirena and Criid had apparently encountered no problems; Criid was to shoot a jet of purple flames into the air if their part of the plan went awry, and Etrik had not yet seen any. Besides, Kormak and Headrig were going to meet them with the wagon and whisk them back to their campsite in the hills outside Kingsport a safe distance from the brewery; matters were well and truly out of Ertik's hands in that regard.

The brewery had gone up in flames, just as Ertik and Lyndon snuck past the now empty security gates and guard house, pushing through throngs of confused merchants milling about as the city guard panicked and ran to stop the fires.

Lyndon led the way, his crossbow hidden beneath a large travelling cloak, Ertik close behind. Resistance in the crowd was negligible; the sight of Ertik towering over them was enough to move most out of their path. With little more fanfare than startled faces and half-muttered protests, Ertik and Lyndon slunk into the city.

Ertik stole a glance at the rogue; his normally dashing (as he constantly boasted) face was pinched tight in anxiety. The barbarian could understand why. If this went right, Lyndon's brother would be free, his family reunited and he would finally be able to return to his home.

"Stop here a moment," Lyndon said, holding up a hand and looking around the empty streets.

The sounds of people hurrying to put out the fire on the other side of the city were hard to ignore, Ertik noted sullenly. Fortunately all he could hear were screams of panic; none of pain. He had not wanted any to lose their lives just so he and Lyndon could sneak into the city.

Without warning Lyndon was off again; and Ertik hurried to keep up.

"You move very quietly for such a big man," Lyndon remarked almost casually.

"And you talk a lot for someone supposedly proficient at sneaking," Ertik shot back.

"We're safe," Lyndon assured him. "The City Guard don't usually bother with this neighborhood; any that were stationed here would have answered the call to help with the fire instantly, if only for the thought of some excitement."

Ertik suddenly reached out and grabbed Lyndon by the scruff, yanking him back a few feet as a quartet of arrows shot by his face.

"It's not guards I'm worried about," Ertik said, releasing Lyndon and drawing his sword.

"Right," Lyndon muttered, unslinging his crossbow with one hand and rubbing his neck with the other as seven men wearing black cloaks appeared ahead of and behind them.

"Lyndy," one of the cloaked men said, stepping forward and drawing his hood back. "Never thought you'd have the guts to show your face around here again; not even with a barbarian as backup."

The man was about Lyndon's age, Ertik noted; a scruffy dark beard and long, unkempt hair falling out of the hood. Etrik also noted the two daggers sheathed at the man's hip, and the blades he obviously thought were hidden in his leather bracers.

A vein twitched on Lyndon's forehead.

"Ah, Marcus my old friend, how have you been?" Lyndon said with forced cheer. "It's been far too long. Perhaps we can catch up a little later? Say, in another five years?"

Marcus shook his head. "Not a chance, Lyndy. Pretty sneaky, trying to get into the city undetected, causing the fire as a distraction, eh? Whadda ya think the guards'll say about that, hm? You know the Guild has eyes everywhere, Lyndy. You paid us off enough to leave your precious family alone, not you: and you know what the Thieves Guild does to rats, don't you?"

"Enough," Ertik growled, his patience exhausted, throwing a rather large bag of gold at Marcus' feet. "Take this gold, let Lyndon's debt be settled and be gone, wretch. We have no time for your imagined slights."

"No, bad idea," Lyndon started to say to Etrik as Marcus began laughing.

"You really have no clue, do ya, barbarian?" Marcus laughed. "Ya think you can just throw gold at us and make this all go away? He sold us out! For what? A fake trinket that he thought could buy his way out of the slums. Well look at where your loyalty gets you, Lyndy."

Ertik heard the sound of several arrows being nocked; at least three. Six short blades were unsheathed; obviously the men fancied themselves stealthy.

"I will not hesitate to kill you."

Marcus laughed again, coldly this time. "More'll come."

"I will kill them, too," Ertik promised, murder in his eyes, dangerously close to the precipice of blood-rage.

"We will," Lyndon corrected him, doing an admirable job of sounding menacing. Apparently he'd been paying more attention to Etrik and Kormak than the Barbarian had thought.

Marcus and his men wavered a moment. Ertik saw his chance.

With a battle-roar that shook the tight walls around them, Ertik crashed into the four men before him, giving himself wholly to the barbarian's rage and battle lust. Without needing any further goading, Lyndon spun and fired off a stream of bolts at the three behind them.

The two men to Marcus' left fell before Ertik instantly, neatly carved in two. Ertik made a mental note to praise Headrig's smithing abilities again when they got back to camp as the sword sheared through the arms of the third man next to Marcus, coating Ertik in blood.

An arrow buried itself in Ertik's shoulder, but barely pierced the thick skin of the northerner. He laughed, a loud and chilling sound, as he broke the shaft an inch above his skin, testing the movement of his appendage as he did.

With a savage growl Ertik turned on Marcus, who to his credit held his sword out ready to meet the bigger man. He was still shaking like a fever-victim, but Ertik could respect the strength it took just to point a blade at a barbarian.

"You should have taken the money," Ertik said, batting Marcus' sword aside with a one handed grip, his other hand flashing out, palm flat. Marcus stumbled back, throat crushed.

"None can stand before me!"

The battle was over almost before it had begun. Breathing heavily, Ertik had to reign in his bloodlust as he realized there was nothing left to kill. Even for a man of his age and experience, it was difficult. Fortunately Lee had shown Ertik methods of channeling his rage and allowing it to pass quickly, speeding up the process of coming down from a bloodlust-high exponentially. Lee had called it 'meditation'.

"Compared to demons the enforcers of the Thieves Guild are a pretty pathetic bunch, eh?" Lyndon said, coming up behind Ertik.

There was a soft whimper from behind them, and one of the assassins Lyndon had shot rolled over, clutching the shaft of the bolt protruding from his shoulder. Two more stuck out of his left leg, and he looked up at Ertik and Lyndon with undisguised terror.

"You missed," Ertik said, gesturing with his bloody sword at the mewling man on the ground, who went an even lighter shade of pale and voided his bladder.

"Nope," Lyndon said, bending to scoop up the purse of gold. "Someone needs to deliver this gold to the Thieves Guild and pass on the message that my debt, and my brother's release, are paid in full. He was lucky enough to be the least ugly of the three you left me to face."

Ertik rolled his eyes as he sheathed his blade. He could clean it properly later.

"Did you get that?" Lyndon asked the man who was currently trying very hard to crawl one-handed as far away from them as possible, and plonked the purse down on his chest.

"Yes," he managed to stammer between pleas for his life.

Lyndon smiled and nodded, before gripping the two bolts in the man's leg, one in each hand, and tearing them out.

The man let out a scream of agony, cut short as Lyndon poured a health potion on the wounds. The red liquid quickly congealed, sealing the wounds and giving the man back his mobility, as well as numbing the pain.

"I'm going to leave the one in your shoulder there," Lyndon said, standing over the fallen thief. "To punctuate my message. Now best get moving before you bleed to death."

Without a backwards glance, the man was gone faster than Ertik had seen anyone move before.

Well, anyone living, anyway, he corrected himself, thinking again of his old allies; one lithe, black-clad assassin in particular.

"That was oddly generous," Ertik noted as they began walking again, stepping over the corpses of Marcus and his men as they went.

Lyndon shrugged. "I needed someone to pass on the message. They would have just tried to kill me again if I'd gone in person. I don't think that tactic is going to work for the guards, though. My name should be clear in the morning, though. Hopefully."

"Hopefully," Ertik agreed. "I'd prefer not to kill every guard in the city you're about to move back to."

"Ha ha… Ha. You're joking. Right?"

Ertik looked at the other man, his thoughts clear on his face.

Lyndon sighed. "Of course you're not."

Ertik was leaning on the wall of a non-descript house in the outer circle of the slums in Kingsport. He'd chosen to wait outside while Lyndon faced what awaited him. Roughly an hour ago, by Ertik's reckoning of the stars, the town Guard had managed to put out the fires. Another three quarters of an hour after that, a Guard-wagon had arrived, releasing Lyndon's newly-freed brother; a brother who had barely spared Ertik a look as he rushed inside.

The yelling had also just stopped; among the barbarian tribes, this would have meant someone was dead, but before he went in, Lyndon had assured Ertik that it was a good thing among people in Kingsport. A strange custom, but Ertik had noticed that the other peoples of Sanctuary weren't as loud as barbarians tended to be.

Ertik hadn't really been listening to what was going on inside; something about selfishness and a betrayal of trust, money not fixing everything, and so on and so on. It wasn't really his business; getting his ally and friend to this point had been. Now it was up to Lyndon's incredibly fast mouth.

The sun was beginning to rise when Lyndon finally emerged from the house, looking strained, but pleased.

"Well, that went better than I hoped."

Ertik raised an eyebrow, not moving.

"Okay, so they never want to see me again, but I convinced them to take the money; and, I'm sure you're glad to note, no stab wounds!"

Ertik pushed himself off the wall and stood before his comrade, before turning to leave.

"Then I wish you the best, my friend."

"Wait!" Lyndon said, before Ertik could manage more than a step. "I said they never want to see me again; and the reason they accepted my money is that I promised them they never would. So… I guess what I'm getting at… is… I mean…"

Ertik grinned. "Yes, Lyndon. You can come."

Relief was evident on the thief's (former thief, Ertik corrected himself) face.

"Good. In all honesty, I don't think there's a woman I haven't rolled with in Kingsport, anyway," Lyndon bragged, the cocksure mask falling back into place as he fell into step beside the barbarian. "Who wants to revisit past conquests, anyway?"

"This is the part where you stop talking," Ertik grunted, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, don't worry," Lyndon joked, reaching up to wrap an arm as far across Ertik's massive shoulders as he could. "I'm sure we'll find a nice strong girl you won't break somewhere out there."

Ertik laughed as he sent Lyndon sprawling with a good natured shove.

"Unless she can break me, she's not a worthy to carry my seed."

"Must be a barbarian thing," Lyndon muttered, rubbing his hip where he landed, jogging to catch up with the still laughing barbarian.


End file.
